


Blaming the Guilty Party

by waitingfover



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28901172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingfover/pseuds/waitingfover
Summary: As Nirneath Arnoediad ends in tragedy, pointing fingers isn't going to help
Kudos: 6





	Blaming the Guilty Party

**Author's Note:**

> A short work that I may or may not continue.

Caranthir stared out at the bleak landscape beyond the tent flap. It had been raining for two days and the land itself seemed to be leached of color from downpour. Caranthir grimly surveyed the remnants of his men camped around him. It was a third of what he had started with. He balled his hands in frustration. Maedhros’ plan should have worked. It had been working. Until Uldor. He should have seen it, should have expected it. He had been foolish to trust anyone outside of his loyal followers. The self-incriminating thoughts continued to circle in his head like the dragons they had so narrowly escaped from.

A wet cough drew him back to the present. He turned to face the other occupant of the tent. Maglor lay on a low pallet behind Caranthir. His face was flushed with fever, his dark hair was damp with sweat despite the cool temperature of the air. Another cough was torn from Maglor's chest, this one brought blood to his lips. He choked on the thick liquid for a moment before his breathing returned to the same jerky rhythm it had been earlier. Caranthir sighed worriedly before reaching down to wipe away the blood from his older brother's lips.

He remembered the battle and watching in confusion as his soldiers were cut down, not by Orcs, but by their own allies. At first Caranthir thought that the men of Ulfang had been turned around in the choas of the fight and didn't realize who they were attacking. Very soon though, it be came evident that it was a well coordinated assault and not random accident. His distraction had nearly cost him his life. 

Uldor had attacked him and knocked him from his horse, winding him. Before Uldor could finish him off, Maglor had step in. Their fight had been brief, but brutal. Maglor had fatally wounded Uldor only for the traitorous human to lunge forward in a last desperate effort. Uldor’s blade found its mark just below Maglor’s ribs. The dwarven made sword had sliced through his chainmail like butter. Caranthir had barely managed to haul both of them on to his horse before they had been forced to retreat in front of the new onslaught. Caranthir had handed his brother off to someone in order to rallied his men for another assault. 

This had eventually proved to be a fruitless endeavor and Maedhros had ordered them all to retreat. In the rush Caranthir’s host had been separated from those of his brothers and had become lost in the wilds. The weather had turned against them and Caranthir had been forced to call a halt or risk letting his men succumb to the elements. They were now waiting for others of the Fëanorian army to find them or for the weather to clear enough to send out scouts.

After camp had been set up, Caranthir had been taken by the healers to the tent where Maglor lay. They had stopped the bleeding from his wound, but the weather and travel had caused an infection in his chest. They promised that the minstrel would be fine, but their worries looks and hushed voices made Caranthir doubt their words.

The rain continued to pour as Caranthir sat beside his stricken brother and ran a hand through Maglor’s hair, gently detangling it. The motion was soothing to frayed nerves, though it brought no quite to his mind. He had been doing that for a while when he was startled by a quiet voice. 

“Stop… stop it….” Maglor’s voice was raspy and punctuated by wheezing. Caranthir was surprised that Maglor was conscious, let alone lucid with the amount of pain suppressants the healers had forced down his throat.

“Stop what?” His hand stilling in Maglor’s hair. 

“Have... the ...*cough*... face....Stop… blaming your… *cough*… yourself...Not….Not …*cough*…. Not your… fault…” 

“How is any of this not my fault?” Caranthir laughed bitterly, “Ulfang and his people were recruited by me. I should have done something. I should have prepared for something like that. Then there's your wound. You wouldn't even had be injured if I had-"

“Not… your… fault….Did... didn’t….know…Morg-”

Maglor's voice broke off as he dissolved into a violent fit of coughing, clutching at his wound. He curled in on himself, gagging on the blood that trickled out of the corner of his mouth. Caranthir heaved him upright, trying to lessen the coughing. The fit eventually passed and Maglor sagged back against his younger brother, utterly spent. Caranthir could feel the tremors that wracked Maglor’s exhausted body. Caranthir preferred to avoid physical contact whenever possible, but for now he let his brother remain propped up against him to ease his breathing and draw what little comfort he could from the touch. They sat there in the damp tent, the silence only broken by the pitter-patter of rain and Maglor's shallow panting. 

Caranthir finally had been forced to move as his leg had fallen asleep and was painfully numb. He slowly stretched the limb out, kneading it gently to get the blood to flow back into it. Maglor gave a low cry of pain as he was shifted. Worried, Caranthir checked Maglor’s wound and cursed when he felt blood soaking through the bandages. Maglor must have torn his stitches again. 

“I’ll be right back,” Caranthir gently settled Maglor back down. The minstrel didn’t respond and Caranthir saw that he had once again lost consciousness. Caranthir drew his hood up and stepped out into the rain to look for a healer. As he left the tent, he glanced back towards his wounded brother once more. 

“You better find us soon, Nelyo. I don’t know how much longer he can last out here,” he murmured under breath as he forged ahead into the driving rain.


End file.
